


Those Damned Hands

by lmirandas



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Daydreaming, Friends to Lovers, Greg is obsessed with Mycroft's hands, Indecent proposals, M/M, Part of Egmon73's booklet, Pining, lustful thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13561938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirandas/pseuds/lmirandas
Summary: Greg Lestrade is known for his tenacity, work ethics and commitment to his job. So Mycroft is peeved when he realizes his friend and colleague is not paying proper attention to his words. Until he realizes the reason why.





	Those Damned Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [egmon73](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egmon73/gifts).



> This is a little thing that I wrote to cheer up our darling Em! Finally posting it here.

Greg Lestrade was a great Detective, New Scotland Yard was aware of that. He was tenacious, incisive, dedicated, and sometimes a little hard headed. He also had a wide range of attention, he was usually able to focus on various things at the time, used to oversee crime scenes and to see the wide picture. So Mycroft Holmes was peeved that the moment he realized the man was not entirely there. 

 

"Detective Inspector?"

"Mmmh?"

"Gregory!"

"What? Oh, Mycroft, I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"Want to let me in on what is causing your little fugue?"

"Oh, no, no, go ahead, you were saying?"

"If this is not a good time..."

"No, no, seriously, go ahead, tell me again..."

"Are you going to heed mind of what's being said then?"

"I'm sorry, I will pay attention, I promise."

 

Again, Mycroft started summarizing the situation to the inspector, who seemed completely distracted once more.

 

"Gregory, if it is indeed not a good time, we could leave the meeting for another day."

 

God knew his brother's antics were not going to change anytime soon. The lack of attention from his good friend was starting to hurt. He should cut his losses and leave before the man walked away forgetting he was part of a conversation in the first place. What was Gregory looking at? Oh,  _ oh _ , this was something he could use....

_______________________________________________________________________

 

Years and years of knowing Mycroft Holmes, years of considering him a friend, even a good one sometimes, had not prepared him for his reaction when he finally noticed the man's hands. Long fingers, well-manicured nails, not with the calluses that Sherlock had on his. They looked soft, and not for the first time he wondered if Mycroft had invested some of his valuable time on learning how to play an instrument like his brother. 

 

His mind started deviating, a thing that he was careful to stop in the presence of this man. God knows what Mycroft thought about his intelligence sometimes, appearing addled was not his goal in talking with the almighty Mycroft Holmes. But.... hands. Those damned hands. His imagination wandered, picturing things on a different line that those same hands could do. Caressing a lover, for example. Wrap around the owner's cock. Wrap around a  _ lover's _ cock. Oh God, he should stop. That road only leads to madness. 

 

It was not enough that he had this little crush on his good friend for years now, the man was aloof, far away like the top of Mount Everest and clearly not interested in an ageing Detective Inspector who sometimes didn't have the time to iron his shirts for work. But... those hands. Those appendages were going to be the death of him. He started picturing them somewhere else, in a more intimate place, opening a lover up, shrouded in warmth. His fingers were  _ really _ long. Probably able to reach places on one go. Damn it, Lestrade, stop. 

 

"Gregory!"

"What? Oh, Mycroft, I'm sorry, you were saying?"

 

Long, long fingers. Man, he was going to self-combust. Going up in flames having lustful thoughts about a friend. Probably condemned to hell. There's a special hell for people who had dirty imaginings about close friends. Molly would have a blast signing his death certificate. Spontaneous ignition due to lust. Cause of death: those damned hands.

 

"Gregory, if it is indeed not a good time, we could leave the meeting for another day."

 

Oh, he didn't like that look. Mycroft's face had a definite shade of hurt in his eyes. Focus Lestrade, you don't want to upset your friend. But those hands.... temptation made him look again. And not a minute after, Mycroft moved closer, whispering in his ear.

 

"Anything you are imagining, it's probably so much better in reality."

 

Almost like a purr, his soft breath warming his ear shell, and sweet God actual Jesus, did the man smelt amazing. Something fresh, like citrus, was it his cologne? His aftershave? He wanted a lungful of whatever the fuck that was. Time to grab the bull by the horns then.

 

"Mycroft, do you have any plans for today?"

 

The man glanced at the screen of his phone, and even though Greg knew the man detested texting, the man seemed reluctant to let him out of his sight. 

 

"As a matter of fact, I don't, Gregory. Any ideas of what I can do with all that free time?"

 

"Plenty. After all, my imagination is really detailed... shall we?"

"After you, then."


End file.
